ethnic differences set them apart: their eyes, the marquis's slightly fuller mouth, the nuance of a curve in the marquis's nose where it had been broken in public school. But they were both dark, tall, powerfully built, and interested in the princess.
Perhaps that interest could be turned to his advantage, the marquis thought. 'Why don't we ride out and see the estate,' Hugh suggested, anxious to test the limits of his freedom. 'Can my batman come along?'
'Certainly.'
'Obliging,' Hugh softly murmured, his dark eyes on the captain.
'As long as you're obliging to the princess, my lord, I'll continue to offer you every courtesy. Do we understand each other?'
'Perfectly. Let me get my boots and a shirt. How much time do you need?' he courteously inquired of Sofia.
'Ten minutes.'
'A woman who can dress in under two hours. Where have you been all my life?' the marquis silkily intoned.
'We aren't all china dolls, my lord. Perhaps you've been associating with the wrong women.'
'Obviously,' he replied, his gaze amused. 'Very obviously,' he softly murmured, his glance altogether different.
She blushed.
The marquis smiled.
The captain did not.
'Well, then,' Hugh pleasantly said, rising from his chair, the order of precedence having been nicely clarified, 'why don't we meet at the stables in ten minutes.'
The princess looked glorious in a form-fitting forest-green riding habit, the military cut accentuating her voluptuous femininity, her veiled hat seductive.
'You turn heads, my lady,' Hugh graciously said as she approached. 'Do I detect a Worth creation?'
'How perceptive, my lord. While you look like a red Indian in your buckskins.'
'I dress for comfort,' he replied, smiling, his fringed jacket and chamois riding pants consummate foil for his harsh masculinity.
'Have you been to the American West?' she inquired, moving toward a splendid Thoroughbred held by a groom.
'Several times. The hunting is superb.'
'A change from your pursuit of females?'
'Females inhabit the West, my lady.'
She cast him a sharp glance. 'Of course. I should have known.'
'Men must be a constant in your life as well.' His tone had turned minutely chill. And he cautioned himself to restraint, every rational impulse reminding him to ignore the princess's amorous partners.
And for a flashing moment, he acceded to the persuasion of reason.
'Do you hunt or do they hunt you?' he abruptly inquired, following her, waving away the groom.
'I don't need your help,' she murmured, gesturing the groom back.
The marquis said 'Get away' in such a vicious tone, the man literally leapt aside. 'There, now,' Hugh softly murmured, cupping his hands to lift her up, 'let me help you mount.'
'A change for you,' she tartly said, her smile brittle.
'And when it seemed as though you were enjoying yourself,' he sardonically replied, watching her cheeks turn pink.
'Perhaps I can repay the favor someday,' she brusquely declared, placing her booted foot in the scoop of his hands. An unwanted shiver ran down her spine as he smoothly lifted her weight and dropped her onto the saddle.
'I wait with bated breath, my lady,' he murmured, adjusting her foot in the stirrup with an authority that triggered a rush of heated memory. His palm drifted up her leg, smoothed the folds of her skirt, stroked her knee curved over the pommel of the sidesaddle. 'You look… ready,' he whispered.
She shouldn't react to such insolence, she thought, nor respond to the carnal heat in his voice, but her body failed to understand degrees of pique and she felt a damp heat liquify between her legs. 'You irritate me, Crewe,' she curtly said, repressing her shameful carnal urges.
'That's not all I do to you, Princess,' he quietly remarked, skilled at recognizing female arousal. 'Should I see if you're wet for me?' he whispered with unctuous charm.
She brought her whip down on her mount's flanks in answer, and he quickly stepped back, his smile knowing. Striding to the mount prepared for him, he leapt into the saddle and threw a swift glance at Gregory and his troop, at Pierce. 'Keep your distance,' he ordered, and, whipping his black, he galloped after her.
Matching his mount's pace to hers, he maintained several yards between them, surveying the country through which they passed, taking note of landmarks, his eye on the sun, gauging their direction… until he spied a distinctive grotto on a distant hillside and, overtaking her, he forced her mount to turn.
She fought against the pressure of the large black he rode, the horses shoulder-to-shoulder in a hard gallop, the inexorable pressure of his larger mount bringing hers around. 'I don't want to ride with you!' she shouted.
'Show me the view from there!' he shouted back, ignoring her words, pointing at the tumble of stone perched atop a wooded rise. And when she continued to oppose him, he leaned over, grabbed her reins, and pulled the horses to an easy lope. They slowed as the ascent became steeper, but he didn't release his grip on her reins and, pursed-lipped, she rode beside him.
'How much can Gregory be trusted?' he asked, glancing back to see their guards the required distance away. Pierce rode alone behind them. 'Not talking, are we?' he noted a moment later, surveying her set face.
'What good would it do?'
'I thought you wanted to get away.'
'I'm to trust you, you mean.' Her tone was filled with disgust.
'I suppose you'd have to.'
She snorted, her swift glance barbed. And they settled into silence the remainder of the way up the rise. The grotto turned out to be much larger at close quarters, the entrance two beautifully cast bronze doors worthy of at least a baptistery if not a cathedral, the pile of stones artfully arranged specimens of exquisite marbles and malachite in harmonious hues, a riot of vines, flowers, moss ornamenting the stone. 'A very expensive alehouse,' Hugh blandly remarked, sliding from his saddle, aware of the common entertainments for picturesque follies like this.
'Or a dolly house,' Sofia flippantly noted, staying in her saddle, her reins still securely in the marquis's gloved hands.
'Is that why you didn't want to come here? You don't trust me?' the marquis impudently inquired, walking around to lift her from her mount. He put up his hands.
'Must I?' she coldly asked.
'Unless you think you can wrestle me to the ground and then ride away,' he drolly returned.
'Lord, you're difficult.'
'Down,' he ordered, beckoning with his index finger.
'I could scream for help,' she petulantly said.
'And that would get you a baby?' His smile was boyishly innocent.
'Damn you.'
'But I'm a necessary evil,' he softly replied. 'Now, if you prefer, I can haul you from that saddle.'
Abruptly pitching forward, she fell limp as a rag doll, and only his quick reflexes saved her. Grunting, he absorbed her sudden dead weight, steadied himself, and, scooping her up against his chest, hatless now since her fall, he lightly said, 'Your husband might have good reason to be out of sorts with you. You're damnably headstrong and independent.'
'Only men are supposed to be headstrong and independent?' she hotly contended.
'Of course. Haven't you read the rules?' His voice was teasing as he moved toward the small structure.
'Then it's time to change the rules.'
'Good. You'll come away with me then,' he advanced, looking down at her, his gaze suddenly grave.
